


hysteria (when you're near)

by wickedlittleoz



Series: ain't no big deal (it's innocent) [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Bisexual Stevie Harrington, Canon Divergence, F/F, First Time, Genderbending, Lesbian Billie Hargrove, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Sex in very wrong places, Unbeta'd, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, and more - Freeform, as usual i'm the worst with tags, billie goes after stevie and gets what she wants, i know i'm bad and have no idea how it's actually done can you tell i'm ace, it's genderbent harringrove, it's my first time writing F/F please be kind, set somewhere during season 2, we're just going to ignore the timeline for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:00:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22269814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedlittleoz/pseuds/wickedlittleoz
Summary: Billie wears a skirt for the first time, ever. Stevie loses it.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: ain't no big deal (it's innocent) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696006
Comments: 18
Kudos: 193





	hysteria (when you're near)

**Author's Note:**

> I started this AGES ago when I saw a piece of fanart on Tumblr of Billy wearing like, a really short denim skirt, and Steve f*cking him in it. Dunno if I can find it again, but I'll try to and update this with a link. ANYWAY. Ages ago, honestly forgot about the whole thing, but then I stumbled upon the file last night and became DETERMINED to finish writing it. It's my first time ever writing F/F slash---hell, anything involving a vagina, so you can imagine, probably bad. Very PWP. I'll love you if you read it through, though.
> 
> *Edit: [FOUND IT](https://lowlifesymptoms.tumblr.com/post/187578267973)! All credits to Tumblr user lowlifesymptoms. Have fun fam~

As soon as she walks into school that morning, Stevie realizes something has changed.

She can't quite put her finger on it for the first few hours, but after each break and too many whispers of _did you see Hargrove this morning?_ , she quickly realizes it's probably some new stunt the girl has pulled. It has been clear ever since the Hargroves moved in, a couple months back, that the eldest of the two girls loves attention probably more than she loves dick.

You know, judging by the commentary among the boys in the basketball team, some of which Stevie herself knows quite... _Intimately_.

Stevie remembers with clarity the first time she ever saw Willhemina Hargrove -- _Billie_ , or so Carol had mentioned she preferred. Apparently Willhemina had been her grandmother and her dad thought it was a cute way to remember the old lady, who'd died just a few weeks before Billie was born. It's really no wonder she hates the name; Stevie's isn't even half as bad, and she's been telling everyone _Stevie, please_ ever since she can remember.

Anyway, speaking of memories...

That morning she was sitting in Jonathan's car, they were going through her college application essay. That was before _bullshit_. Before he ruined whatever sense of normalcy Stevie had been able to rebuild after the crazy shit from last year. Then, things were good between them, _great,_ except that in that very moment Stevie wanted to fucking disappear; it was the way Johnny was trying _so hard_ to hide the fact that her essay _sucked_.

He'd said before he didn't understand, really, why a girl like her would waste her time with thoughts of college. It hurt, but her dad had said the same thing countless times before and she was starting to believe they had a point. The best she could do was hope for a good, wealthy marriage. Perhaps she'd wind up like her mom, spending most of the year travelling around the world and vacationing at home.

The thought made her glance at Jonathan out the corner of her eye. There wasn't much hope for that future, not with the guy. It was a nasty thing to say and she was trying to be better, so she swallowed around the words _what, like you're going to support me?_ and turned her attention to the rest of the students making their way into school.

And that was when she heard it. The rumble, the sensual _purr_ of that engine. A car like Hawkins had never witnessed in all its history.

She turned to look and saw the electric blue of the Camaro drive into the parking lot. As if struck by that lightning, she hopped out of Jonathan's car, eyes following the vehicle hungrily. She barely registered the fact that her boyfriend had also climbed off; everyone was _staring_ , curious to see whose parents had been generous enough to gift them such a fine gem.

The engine died and the music also stopped -- it wasn't until then that Stephanie Harrington noticed the riffs of distorted guitar and bellows of _here I am // rock you like a hurricane_. The driver door swung open, a booted foot stepped out, followed by curvy legs hugged tightly by blue jeans.

Stevie's jaw dropped; what kind of girl not only owned a car, but a lousy one like that?

"You had a car once," Johnny said as they made their way to lunch later that day, once Stevie voiced the thought. She hadn't been able to get the girl off her mind; if she didn't train her thoughts all the time, they ended up flowing back to cherry red lips and bouncy, golden curls.

"Yeah, but dad took it away. Said it's not nice for a girl to drive around alone." That was only half the truth. Her dad had found out she'd been driving out of town every other weekend to go to parties with Tommy and Carol when the gas checks came back crazy expensive, and _then_ decided that owning a penis was a must if you wanted to also own a car.

"I don't know, Steph, it's not so crazy to me." She rolled her eyes behind him at the nickname. Jonathan _knew_ she hated it, but _she_ also knew he hated _Johnny_ and never bothered _not_ to use it, so. "We know plenty of girls who own cars."

"Oh yeah? Name one." She raised a brow, planted her elbows on the table and leaned forward. Together they looked around the cafeteria. Stevie's thoughts of analyzing girl after girl were erased from her mind as soon as she set her eyes on the second table to their left. It's where she used to sit with Tommy and Carol. She watched them make their way there, followed by the mysterious girl with the gorgeous tan. She smiled at Stevie when their eyes met, winked at her with one of those _blueblueblue_ eyes, winged liner huge and impossible.

Stevie was a sucker for blue eyes.

...You know, on people like Patrick Swayze.

"Nancy's got a car," Jonathan was saying.

Stevie blinked, turned her attention back towards the boy. He was waving, motioning for someone to join them, and Nancy slid into the chair next to Stevie's a moment later.

"Yeah, but it's not _her_ car." Even though she was now staring at her food, forcing herself to ignore the girl, Stevie could feel her eyes on her. The heat of he stare, the _intention_. It was unnerving. "She just helps her mom around. Right, Nance?"

"Uh, yeah... I guess," she shrugged. "This about the new girl?"

"Stevie thinks it's weird for a girl to have her own car," Jonathan said with a shrug of his own, a roll of his eyes.

"No," she said through grit teeth before she so much as noticed her anger flaring up. Nancy had perked up to respond and the crease in her brow was the one she got whenever she felt like informing others that _feminism_ was a real word. It felt like the two of them were pairing up against Stevie all the time. "I said I think it's weird she has such a _loud_ car."

_And an offensively tight wardrobe_ , the voice in her head added. Stevie's eyes followed the pull of the girl's stare and she smiled, sharp and wide, at Stevie's attention.

She stood at once, nearly pushing Nancy off her chair, a second time that day feeling as if she'd been struck by lightning.

"And, you know what, I've lost my appetite. See you after class."

Jonathan's shouts of _Stevie!_ followed her all the way to the girls restroom.

Since then, Stevie has had a very hard time ignoring Hargrove.

For one thing, the girl does everything imaginable _and_ unimaginable to get under Stevie's skin. She joins the cheerleading team, shameless about wearing bikini tops for the first couple of weeks, until her uniform comes in. Agile and flexible in ways that make Stevie's legs weak, though she wouldn't admit. It becomes obvious pretty quickly that she's much stronger than any of the girls, and then she's using every opportunity to get her hands on Stevie under the excuse of _how do you expect me catch you? I can't let our captain fall and hurt herself_. Shrugs it off when Stevie tries to say that none of the other girls has "accidentally" full on _grabbed_ one of her boobs. Says _I should've guessed you hillbilly country girls were all prudes, what? You think your A cups turn me on?_. 

At Tina's, on Halloween, she got so close up Stevie's face that the girl froze in place. Hargrove appears to have no understanding of personal space. That stupid staring contest was only the outlining of the unspoken challenge between them, because following that moment she's started on a campaign to show everyone how much _fresher_ than Stevie she is.

And if Stevie can't stop thinking about Hargrove, can you really blame her? She isn't a lesbian, mind you, but girls aren't all bad. Her and Carol have gotten drunk together enough times to get a little too bold and too curious, and when Hargrove struts around school like she fucking owns it _and_ everyone in it, hips swaying in ways you only see in movies, plump lips red like sin and long, blond hair waving all the way down to her hips... You can't really blame Stevie for _watching_.

And then _thinking_.

(And Stevie's trying to be better, so she wouldn't say it to his face, but the thought of those long, strong, tanned legs of Hargrove's gets her off in ways Jonathan never could.)

* * *

It's not until lunch that she finally realizes what exactly Hargrove has brought up this time. Better, she _sees_ it. Honestly, Stevie's been dreading this moment all morning, knowing full well that whatever Hargrove's doing, she's trying to piss her off. Rile her up. Get a fight out of Stevie, like that's her sole life purpose.

But it seems like she might be safe, after all. Because all Hargrove did this time was wear a _skirt_.

It sounds absurd that she wasted so much energy worrying all morning and Stevie hates herself for thinking it had to have anything to do with her _at all_. Sure, it's weird and off-putting, because Hargrove always wears jeans. _Always_. Either black or sky-blue with ripped knees, but always jeans, like she's the one who was raised in a farmer town.

And then suddenly, there she is, wandering into the school cafeteria in a black-and-red plaid skirt and a white button-down, as if she's just decided to join the math club or something. The biker boots sort or ruin the look (or arguably, make it better), but it's solid.

The buzz of conversations in the hall suddenly stops and everyone turns to look. She's smiling, smug, like she actually _planned_ for this to happen, and Hargrove has to know. That the skirt is way too short. That her infamous legs seem oblivious to the cold of Indiana fall, skin glowing and still tan, the defined muscles of her thighs barely hidden by the fabric. And worse, that the pleads of her little skirt waver with every step she takes, and maybe, only maybe, Stevie's gaze follows her all the way to her table. And maybe, only maybe, she loses the appetite for lunch and feels her mouth water with something else.

_Fine_. She understands it now.

Stevie turns her attention away from the girl, has to force herself to keep walking and not trip on her own feet. She sinks into her chair at the usual table -- she gave herself the right to keep the table to herself since Jonathan and Nancy kept _each other_ \-- and trains her eyes to stay. on. her. food. And it's all going really well, until a shadow sets over her table.

Without looking, she already knows who it is. Still, breath catches in her throat when her eyes roam upwards to plant on Billie Hargrove's proud smile.

"What do you want?" Stevie spits because she hates the way Hargrove stands so tall even though she's about a whole head shorter than Stevie. Hates the way the smallest thing she does has Stevie hot and bothered. Hates the sheer _power_ she has over her.

"What's got your panties in a twist, Captain? PMS?" Hargrove shoots back, sinking down on the chair across from Stevie. She sets her food down and starts gnawing on a piece of PB&J through a smile, hints of tongue here and there.

Stevie breathes deeply, sits straighter lest they come in _any_ sort of contact. This whole game of annoying her for attention is getting old and tired by now. Sometimes she just wishes for one fucking day of _peace_.

" _You_ ," she says, avoiding Hargrove's eyes.

When she stands and starts to walk away, she thinks she hears howling laughter.

Stevie considers ditching practice, but there's a game coming up on the weekend and the girls are way behind the schedule. With so much work to be done, it would be very irresponsible of her to not show up, and she's already lost too much to give up cheering now. But it's a long afternoon and a tough work of convincing herself that she only has to put up with Hargrove for one more hour, just for the sake of the team. 

She decides to ditch last period, though, and take the time to herself.

Because most practices are done for the day, the left wing of the school is mostly empty when she emerges from the lockers, intentionally late for class. Stevie finds an empty bathroom, checks both ends of the hallway to make sure no one's around before slipping inside.

Her mind is buzzing when she locks herself in the last stall, the one further from the door. On the one hand, she knows she's falling for Hargrove's game. The girl _wants_ to have her -- and everyone else's -- attention. She's the show-off, super confident kind that Stevie used to be, you know, before goo monsters and _bullshit_. On the other, all of the places of her body where Hargrove as much as _accidentaly_ touched during practice are still burning, scalding, like Hargrove's hands were hot iron, branding her with the shape of a small palm.

So it's a bittersweet kind of pleasure when Stevie pulls her jeans down and touches herself. Her mind floods with memories of Hargrove's cocky attitude, the waver of her hips.

It was only after she showed up in Stevie's life that she started noticing other girls; before that, Stevie was only mindlessly aware of which ones were cute and which ones needed to be introduced to hairspray and make up. As the head cheerleader, it was sort of her job as well -- they couldn't just let anyone into the team.

But ever since Hargrove, ever since she rolled into town with miles and miles of legs to die for, strong hands, a cheeky grin that had imprinted itself in Stevie's mind so hard it was all she could see when she closed her eyes -- everything about other girls began to stand out more to her. This isn't the first time she touches herself to the thought of tanned skin and bouncy tits; a year ago she would hate herself for it. But right now it's all she can do to stop herself from shoving Hargrove into a wall and kissing her senseless.

To be fair, with the amount of flirting she throws Stevie's way, she thinks the girl would want it as much as her.

The sound of the door opening imediately stalls her moves. Stevie's free hand flies to her mouth, lest the moan that'd been creeping up her chest a second ago escapes. It's futile, because next she hears footsteps, heavy ones, and she has to gasp -- boots, she realizes with a startle that sends her heart racing. _Hargrove_.

Part of Stevie wants to make a show for her. It's the thought of the girl standing outside that had been getting her off and knowing she's standing right there makes her shiver with excitement. She wants to test Hargrove, show her that she's capable of being just as petty as the girl. But on the other hand, she knows Hargrove to be a _dick_ and this whole thing is just a recipe for disaster.

Air escapes from her mouth in an irritated whine, only a hint of sound as she pulls her hand free and tries to buckle up the jeans as fast as possible. The hard material digs into her when she zips it up, making her all the more aware of how wet and how hard she _still_ is. She whimpers softly, bites into her lips, grabs at the toilet paper to wipe her fingers.

The whole time she can hear Hargrove's steps wandering about, but she's focused on leaving as fast and with as little interaction with the girl as possible. Honestly, she's so far gone that if Hargrove even looks at her too intently, she might cum on the spot. But that thought also proves pointless, because when Stevie pushes the door open, Hargrove's sitting on top of the sink right across from her.

She's smiling that little devilish smile of her own, tip of a pink tongue poking out from between her teeth, red lips. Her hands rest on the sink next to her muscular thighs, almost entirely exposed as the skirt has ridden up. Legs crossed at the ankles, she looks almost harmless.

Stevie realizes that she must have been followed, because one quick glance at the door informs her that Hargrove's locked it. Also (and most importantly) because a second later Hargrove starts to slide her hands to her knees, slowly crests them higher up her thighs, pushes the skirt, up, _up, up_ to the waist. Her knees spread apart even slower, effectively building expectation, and Stevie feels her insides go ice cold, because under the skirt she's entirely naked.

The first thought that crosses her mind is that Hargrove must have purposefully taken off her underwear, there is no way in hell she would have gone an entire day commando in such a tiny skirt and not flashed it, not even once -- and if she had, it's to be trusted that the entire school would know by then.

_Then_ it hits her, hard as a punch, that she did it _for her_.

She feels lightheaded.

Breath starts comming quick and ragged out of her mouth, chest heaving. Hargrove laughs at that, leans back onto hands that she plants behind her body on the marble sink. Her feet start kicking up like a kid in a seesaw, like she's having the most fun of her life right now, legs still wide apart, a whole new angle to the vision in front of Stevie that she's trying as hard as possible to avoid.

"Something the matter, Captain?" She asks, fake innocence that doesn't go at all with her voice. Stevie can feel herself getting wetter by the second even as she trains her eyes on the pile of paper towels to Hargrove's right.

Sure, Hargrove's hot and presenting herself like a meal, but she's also a jerk and Stevie isn't sure if she wants to sink that low. Also, she doesn't know what Hargrove's playing at. What if this is some sort of act to force her out of the closet? Stevie doesn't need yet another blow to her image. She doesn't even know _what_ she identifies with anymore.

She takes a deep breath, grounds herself. Mentally tells her pussy to _wait till we're home_ , feeling stupid for having to do so -- _really Harrington, get it together_. Turns to her right and walks down the whole length of the bathroom, stopping at the last tap to wash her hands. The jeans continue to rub against her in an uncomfortable way, but Stevie's lived worse.

Or she's about to.

Hargrove's chuckling when she jumps down from the sink, lands on the tiled floor with a thud. Pads over to Stevie before she has the chance to finish drying her hands. The girl seems to have given up the subtly act, seeing that Stevie's planning on leaving. Head to toe, she glues herself to Stevie's side, right hand going to her hair and curling it behind her ear.

"Going somewhere?" She purrs at Stevie's ear, breath hot. Noses at her temple. Her hand starts to roam down and the tip of a finger traces her spine.

Stevie shivers. "Away from you," she spits, but there's not a lot of resolve in her words when she can feel the warmth of Hargrove's body pressing against her. When she angles it so that Stevie's left hand is brushing the inside of her thigh. So close, yet so far.

There's a chuckle at her ear and Hargovre's hand reaches the hem of her jeans. "Come on, pretty girl. Tell me you haven't thought about this." She continues moving her hand downwars, licks the shell of Stevie's ear at the same time she cups at Stevie's ass.

In the mirror, Stevie's reflection is hungry, wild. Pupils blown and mouth slightly agape as a shaky breath escapes her. _Yes_ , she wants to say, _I think about this all the time_. She wants more than anything to give in, to give _herself_ to Hargrove, consume and be consumed until all pleasure is she knows. 

Instead, she turns around, grabs Hargrove's wrist on a feeble atempt at scaring the girl away. Because Stevie might not be _Queen Stevie_ anymore, but she doesn't wanna be _Butch Stevie_. Doesn't want to be exposed, not yet.

It only causes Hargrove to smile more. Biting into her lower lip, the girl lets out a sensual groan, pretending to be hurt.

"What are you doing?" Stevie asks, eyes searching Hargrove's face for anything, _anything_ other than pure lust, and failing.

A sharp eyebrow arches up; she tugs her hand free, and grabs Stevie's instead. Softly, this time.

"I thought it was obvious?" It's not entirely a question, but it almost sounds like one when she brings Stevie's hand under her skirt. The tips of Stevie's fingers graze her labia and her voice hitches.

For a moment Stevie doesn't move. She's not entirely sure she _can_ move. Of course she understood the flirting, but she didn't quite expect Hargrove to go through with it.

Sensing her doubt, Hargrove tugs her even closer, encourages Stevie's ring and middle finger to push into her with the guidance of a finger of her own.

She's wet, as wet as Stevie feels, and warm. Her skin as always so warm, but when Stevie finally regains her senses, the warmth of her vulva feels almost reassuring.

She's never really touched another girl so intimately. In the past, even when her and Carol got stupid drunk, they only ever made out and got some second-base action. But touching Billie feels sort of familiar, sort of similar to touching herself, mere minutes ago, and when she searches her face it's only pleasure.

So Stevie gives up the intellectual fight. _Fuck it_. Hargrove seems to want her, and Stevie can't remember the last time she _felt_ wanted, not since Jonathan.

The thought sends a pang, hits right into her self-esteem. But she's not paying attention this time. She steps closer to Hargrove, lets her forearm disappear under the pleats of her sinful skirt. With two fingers she traces along her lips, inching deeper with each slide until her thumb grazes the clit. Hargrove jumps, gasps. Stevie grabs at her hair with her free hand, testing the waters, and Hargrove smiles drunkenly up at her, face inches away.

They kiss.

It feels like fireworks are bursting inside her at the taste of cherry lipgloss, because Stevie has been dreaming of this kiss since Tina's Halloween party. Since Hargrove got up and close to her face, so close Stevie could smell the mixture of beer, smoke and cologne on her skin. Since then she's dreamt of biting into Hargrove's plump lips, marking her, tasting her. She whimpers and Stevie does it all again.

Her hand hasn't stopped moving when they break for air. Inside the jeans, Stevie herself is pulsing and wet as a fucking pool, but she focuses on Hargrove. Thumbs at her clit while pushing one, two fingers into her. She bucks against her hand, clenches around her fingers and for once Stevie feels like she's doing something _right_.

"Fuck, Harrington," Hargrove breathes when she seems to regain her thoughts. "Didn't think you had the balls."

Stevie smirks, gives her clit the softest of pinches to feel her clench, squeeze more wetness on her palm, and murmurs, "You're right. I don't have balls."

She thinks it's a smart line; Hargrove chuckles, at least. She hums, agrees, mindlessly wraps a leg around Stevie's calf to pull her closer. At this point Hargrove is almost sitting back on the sink again as Stevie pushes her into it, but she seems to want more, _more._ Her hips snap and roll on her palm, putting all her weight into rutting against Stevie's fingers.

"I thought this is what you wanted, though?" Stevie goes on, seeing as Hargrove's breath seems to be quickening now. Somewhere in the back of her head she realizes the girl must be close to cumming. With a start, she realizes she _wants that_. Wants to watch Hargrove come, wants to _make_ her come undone.

"Yeah," she breathes, throwing her head back and moaning, loud. Stevie buries her face in Hargrove's exposed neck, kisses, licks along the line of her throat.

Before she has the thought to remove her shirt, Hargrove herself starts unbuttoning. Stevie pauses when Hargrove pulls the shirt open to reveal her naked chest.

"Whatever happened to underwear?" She asks, jokingly.

Hargrove looks down at her, finds her eyes again. There's so much fire and intent in them that she's thrown back for a split of second. "Didn't put them on. After practice. Wanted to be ready for you."

Her voice is hoarse and breath short. Stevie shivers, full body, knowing Hargrove actually planned this. She kisses her again, fast and full of tongue, and breaks it in favor of mouthing at her chest.

The skin there is soft, warm and sunburnt. She inhales deeply, knows the smell of Hargrove's skin will follow her to the grave. Her lips trace along her throat, nibbling at the sensitive skin; they trace a path downwards until Stevie's licking a stripe up the crevice between her breasts. A weird flavor coats her tastebuds, the tang of sweat but also the alcohol of cologne. Somehow, it's addictive.

Hargrove comes as soon as her lips close around her right nipple. She groans, clasps her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. Her come drips on the floor around Stevie's fingers and Stevie's whole body warms at the sensation.

She knows she's close, too, but watching the bliss in Hargrove's face and the way her body slumps against the sink is like a personal show. She grins, somehow proud of herself for getting Hargrove off like that, pulls her fingers out of her and dives in for a kiss. A lazy, wet kiss, that goes on forever, until she's grabbing at Hargrove's thigh with cum-coated fingers to hold her in place and rubbing her thighs together for friction.

As Hargrove comes down from her orgasm, she tries to flip them around, but a thought has formed into Stevie's mind.

"I can wait. Can you keep going?" She whispers into Hargrove's lips, kisses her again before she can reply.

"Yeah," she breathes. Her brows are furrowed when she pulls back to look at Stevie. "Why?"

In response, Stevie drops to her knees.

Hargrove grabs at Stevie's hair. Normally, she would want to bat that hand away, but right now, and at Billie's hand, she doesn't care. She's laughing hysterically like she can't believe the sight in front of her, pulls Stevie back and away from her body and forces her to look up.

"You're not really--"

"Been thinking about this the whole day," Stevie admits. It's the thoughts she'd been trying to stray from until she couldn't anymore, until she had to lock herself up in this old, empty bathroom. Obviously Hargrove had intended for this, with the skirt and all. To get on people's mind.

She presses her hands to Hargrove's thighs, almost adoringly. Her fingers slide up the expanse of golden skin like devouting herself to a goddess, spreading cum on the way with her left hand. The skirt gets pushed away easily, like revealing a treat.

She looks up at Hargrove's face one last time. Licks her lips in a blatant mirror of Hargrove's trademark oral obsession. "Can I?"

Billie guides her head forward with the hand in her hair.

Again, this is new to her, but Stevie remembers her boyfriends -- which ones of them were good and which ones were bad. She remembers what they did that felt good. So she tries to replicate it, first by pressing the flat of her tongue against all of her, dragging until the tip carresses her clit. It helps when Billie gasps and tightens the grip on her hair.

Stevie's eyes slide closed as she pours herself into milking as much pleasure from Hargrove as possible. She keeps making the most delicious, sinful sounds, near sobbing when Stevie suckles her clit, and it's getting hard for her to hold back her own needs. In the back of her mind she's only partially aware that they are, as a matter of fact, in school. But aside from Hargrove's soft moans and the wet sounds of her mouth on the girl's vulva, everything else is silent.

Eventually, she lets go of one of Hargrove's legs in favor of touching herself. When she builds a rhythm of fucking her with her tongue, tip of her nose pushing against her clit with the motion, Stevie mimics that rhythm on herself with her fingers.

Her mouth is filled with her flavor. Her nose, with her smell. Her entire world is Hargrove right now and Stevie has never once in her life felt more _alive_. She pulls back after a while to catch her breath, knows she must look completely disheveled with her face red and wet from rubbing into her, and looks up at Hargrove. One of her hands is grabbing at the cold edge of the sink, but her other hand, which has let go of Stevie a while ago, is playing with her own nipples.

She smiles drunkenly down at Stevie, looking as lost as Stevie feels, and whines, "Pretty girl, I'm so close..." Stevie has no choice but to sink back into her.

She changes the angle this time, determined to give Hargrove the best orgasm of her life. Pulling her hand back, abandoning herself once more, she pushes Hargrove back until she's sitting on the sink again. Then Stevie urges her knees to spread as wide as possible. The girl does so, resting back on her hands, and Stevie hears a dull thud when her head hits the mirror.

With a kind of urgency she's never felt before, Stevie buries her face into her again, licking into her passage with earnest. She thumbs at her clit in time with the lapping of her tongue, swallowing more and more wetness each passing second. Alternating between suckling, licking, pushing in. Explores all of her like Billie's her salvation.

At last, her mouth explodes with flavor as Hargrove's body shakes and she comes a second time. Stevie swallows and swallows, licks her like some sort of hot popsicle. When it seems she's done, Stevie lets herself fall back on her hauches.

At this point she's _aching_ like never before. _Queen Stevie_ is used to getting what she wants, when she wants it, but realizes now that waiting isn't so bad when she gets to make Hargrove come _twice_. She pushes her jeans down as far as they can go, sinks her fingers into herself and feels a relieved gasp puff out at being touched. A second later, heavy boots fall on her sides and Hargrove kneels down, kisses Stevie with bite-swollen lips and bats her hand away to replace it with one of her own.

Hargrove's touches are a little harsher than her own, but Stevie _needs_ this so much she could burst in flames, so it's good. It's _perfect_ when she rubs circles at her clit and sinks three fingers into her at once.

She feels warm tears slide down her face as Hargrove's free hand slides under her blouse. She tugs Stevie's bra out of the way, wriggles her hand under the fabric to palm at her breasts, one at a time.

"Come on," she urges at her ear, hands working non-stop. "Come on, Captain, come for me. You've made me feel so good. I wanna make you feel good, too."

Stevie's so lost that she can't formulate the words to tell her that she's never felt this good before. But she sobs into Hargrove's skin, face hidden at the curve of her neck and shaking with every breath and every touch.

It's the feel of nails against her nipples that send her off as Hargrove grazes the tender skin of her breasts. She chuckles with relief, continues to kiss at Stevie's neck and circle her clit until she comes down. Suddenly the world turns back around, gravity falls back onto them, and they're both sitting there, curled into each other and sticky with sweat and come.

Stevie takes a moment to rearrange her thoughts. When she pulls back and finds Hargrove's eyes, she feels a shiver run up her body. Like it wants this, all of this, all over again.

"How long--", she starts but Hargrove cuts her off with a quick kiss.

"Ever since day one," she whispers into her mouth. Stevie could laugh.

Somewhere outside, the bell goes off and they're both startled back into reality. The voices of their classmates filter in from the crack under the door and Stevie becomes aware of their situation. She turns back to Hargrove, her eyes can't help but fall to her still exposed chest.

"Something the matter, Captain?" Hargrove says, echoing the beginning of all they've just done.

Stevie looks from her disheveled clothes, to her brown, pointy nipples (and realizes with a start that she doesn't have a tan line, that she probably tanned naked, which makes her clit pulse, once), to her eyes. She doesn't have the will to move away, especially with Hargrove's fingers still buried in her. But they have to get out of here.

"You wanna..." She licks her lips, feels warmth begin to pool in her stomach at the interest in Billie's eyes. "You wanna come over to my place?"


End file.
